One sunny Saturday afternoon, feeling wonderfully relaxed after an appointment with my osteopath, I cheerily greeted a neighbour I saw in the hall on my way to my apartment.  When I commented on the beautiful weather we’d been having, he replied that he was moving quite slowly that day and hadn’t yet been outside.  “Not as slowly as me,” I quipped, thinking I was being funny.  My remark had quite the opposite effect.  Utterly embarrassed, he mumbled that he didn’t mean it that way, that he was so very sorry, even as I insisted that I was merely joking.   I haven’t seen him since.

It seems I have this new ability to make about half the people I meet feel quite awkward.  Even several friends with whom I haven’t been in touch for more than a decade, upon hearing the news of my affliction, continue sending me emails without ever acknowledging the twist of fate in my life.  I often wondered if they had missed that bit of news by reading my email too quickly.  But when one friend inquired about my health after she had heard the news from another friend (who I thought had read the email too quickly), I realized that some people feel so uncomfortable when they hear about my situation, they simply don’t know what to say and don’t mention it at all.

I find it all rather perplexing and funny.  But I can empathize.  I too have had my awkward moments when I don’t know what to say or do about another person’s (seeming) misfortune.  I remember one night in a grocery store, when I was still walking without a cane, I noticed a man zipping through the aisles in his motorized wheelchair, deftly grabbing cans and boxes from the shelves.  He seemed to be managing very well, but I wondered how he could get things that were too high.  I thought of letting him know that I’d be more than happy to help if he couldn’t reach something.  I kept thinking it the whole time I was in the store; but each time our paths would cross in the aisles, I was overcome with timidity and never said a word.  I wish I had, because I now realize what a relief it is when somebody offers to help…it’s so much better than having to ask.

It’s true that everybody is different.  Some (unlike me) have no qualms about asking for help.  Some people might look like they need help, but they actually prefer to do things independently even if it takes a little more time. Some even resent being offered assistance.  But I now think the risk of offending is trivial compared to the relief one can provide when offering to lend a hand.

In my case, I have found ways of doing many things independently.  I figured out how to use my weight and momentum to open heavy doors and how to wedge my cart to hold the elevator door open.  Still, I’m always happy if I can save a little time when somebody opens a heavy door for me or presses the ‘open’ button in the elevator.  Sometimes, my cart gets stuck as I’m trying to enter the elevator, and I see people looking at me uneasily, unsure whether they should help.  My friendly neighbour L. finally said one day, “I never know what to do when your cart gets stuck; is it ok if I help you?”  And I was able to answer that if she could help me move my cart gently—an abrupt tug could throw me off balance—it would be greatly appreciated.  And with that candid question, the oppressive awkwardness in the elevator evaporated into thin air.